


Second Chances

by Morgan_Elektra



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Based on a Tumblr Post, Bottom Draco, Boys Kissing, Brooding, Brunch, Cambridge, Draco goes to Cambridge and wears Dior, Fashion & Couture, Flesh & Buns is a real restaurant in London, French Kissing, Harry strokes for Oxford Boat Club, Hurt Harry, Inspired By Tumblr, M/M, Matchmaker Neville, Mutual Pining, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Oxford, POV Draco Malfoy, Pansy is a busybody, Rimming, Rivalry, Second Chances, Top Harry Potter, Tumblr Prompt, regretful Draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 14:39:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8289370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgan_Elektra/pseuds/Morgan_Elektra
Summary: All Muggle AU Draco doesn't do relationships, just one-night stands. No numbers. No repeats. Even when the connection is intense and the sex is amazing. He never expected to see the man with the lightning bolt scar again. Especially over Sunday brunch with his friends. Awkward. But maybe it's an opportunity in disguise. Based on a suggestion by jadepresely on Tumblr





	

Eleven was entirely too early to be awake, especially on a Sunday.

Draco stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of his building, sliding on his brand new Dior sunglasses to protect his eyes from the pale London sunshine. He knew the sleek, modern, black-and-silver frames complemented his smooth, fair skin and sharp cheekbones.

Just because he was practically a zombie didn’t mean he couldn’t look good.

Despite the uncommonly clear sky, a chilly autumn wind tugged at the artfully mussed locks of his platinum blond hair and slid teasing fingers inside his Burberry peacoat. He shivered and tugged the moleskin closed, thankful for the warmth of the black shearling collar.

He wriggled his fingers into the pocket of his distressed black skinny jeans, fishing for the crumpled, almost empty pack of cigarettes and the antique silver lighter he’d lifted from his father’s study the last time he’d been at the manor. His mobile buzzed, the plastic case rattling against the metal.

Draco slid one of the slightly battered white sticks between his lips and lit it, rubbing his thumb over the snake looped around his family’s coat of arms, in no rush to answer the call. He knew who it was. Acrid smoke filled his lungs with each inhale. He concentrated on that instead of the throbbing in his temples.

The phone vibrated again. With a sigh, Draco lifted it to his ear.

“If you were anyone else, I wouldn’t even be answering.”

Pansy’s throaty chuckle was smug. “I know.”

Flicking ash, Draco turned to his left and ambled toward the intersection, wincing as a lorry driver laid on his horn.

“I should still be in bed,” he grumbled. He didn’t expect a reply. It was a common complaint, one he had been making since they’d started their bi-weekly Sunday brunches in their first year at uni. But this time, Pansy’s voice rose with interest.

“Why? Someone waiting for you? You could bring him along.”

His stomach twisted at the flash of sparkling emerald green eyes her words conjured, but he thrust the memory away. Draco snorted.

“You know I prefer to leave them in bed, naked and desperate for me to return.”

Which was true, as far as it went. He’d never been the type to bring a boy to brunch. He didn’t do relationships. Draco left that to the others. Like Pansy. She dated boys, girls, and gorgeous little morsels that fell somewhere in between as well.

Equal opportunity shagger, that was his Pans. Draco grinned and blew out a stream of smoke.

Again, his best friend’s voice had a surprising edge when she answered. “Does that mean you _do_ have someone in that ridiculously large bed of yours this morning?”

 _No_.

“Yes.”

Pansy stepped around the corner, her sculpted black brows lifted. “Liar.”

She slid her phone into her hideous little black bowling bag and looped her arm through his. He bent to kiss her cool cheek.

“Cow.”

Not that she was wrong. He hadn’t left anyone waiting in his bed. Not last night, and not any other night in the last month.

He went out like always, but he came home alone. He pretended it was just party fatigue.

Draco glanced down at the plunging neckline of Pansy’s lace wrap dress and tilted his head. The rich purple and underlying red looked fabulous with her black hair, umber eyes, and the just-returned-from-vacation tan. She’d paired it with the cropped leather moto jacket Theo had given her last Christmas. The ensemble flattered her, but wasn’t quite her usual haute couture style.

Draco snickered as he took another drag off his cigarette, snorting smoke out his nose in twin plumes.

“Still angling for the youngest Weasley, are we? I thought Ginevra was shacking up with that footballer from Bulgaria or wherever. Krum.”

A faint pink flushed Pansy’s cheeks, but she lifted her chin and tugged him along.

“They parted ways. She said he has a cock like a stallion but the conversational skills of her least favorite dildo.”

“And that’s a problem why?”

Pansy shrugged and plucked the cigarette from his hand. “Some of us like to enjoy a person for more than just a night, believe it or not. When was the last time you bothered to exchange more than first names with one of your conquests, Draco?”

They turned onto Carlisle Street and Draco tried not to think how his last lover had laughed as he tugged Draco’s jeans down his legs, complaining about how tight they were.

“But they make my ass look amazing!” Draco had replied, which earned him a deep, hot kiss and two large hands palming the posterior in question.

Just the memory of the rough groan and the growled “God, yes they do!” that followed was enough to make his heart stumble against his ribs. He tried to shut the door on that, and all the other images crowded behind it, but Pans was staring up at him with a pointed purse to her plum-pink lips.

On any other Sunday morning, she would talk his ear off on the way to the restaurant (they rotated who chose, this week was Pansy’s turn, which meant they were headed for Flesh & Buns) and Draco would nurse his hangover and dole out a few tidbits of information about his latest bed partner.

Today, however, she remained silent, blowing smoke rings as they strolled through Soho Square Gardens. Summer was officially over, but the grass was still bright green.  Draco toed at a tenacious little wildflower.

He couldn’t say why this last one was different. It had started the same as any other hookup, over a drink at a club. They’d spent the day at Camden Fringe before finding their way to Charing Cross station.

As soon as they stepped foot inside Heaven, Pans had disappeared with Ginny.Theo and Hermione were arguing gender politics while Blaise teased Ron about Cambridge winning this year’s boat race. Luna and Millie had tried to drag him into some discussion about planning a trip around the Christmas hols. Nev wanted to tell him about one of the lads on his crew, but as intriguing as hearing about the “stroke” sounded, Draco had just wanted to dance.

The music was loud and the bass driving, vibrating in Draco’s bones. He was sweaty and panting when he’d felt the weight of a gaze on him. He was no stranger to the feeling, but when he’d found the man eye-fucking him from behind a pair of adorably unfashionable glasses, he’d been surprised by the depth of his response. His whole body hummed.

Normally, Draco played coy and made men come to him… but that night he crossed the dancefloor to the man’s side immediately, an exaggerated roll to his hips.

Full, firm lips ticked up in a crooked smile when Draco slid into the miniscule space beside him at the bar, pressing close. He’d smelled of soap, and his dark hair was damp and unruly. A small scar shaped like a lightning bolt started just above one thick brow. The body underneath his faded t-shirt and jeans was firm with muscle.

Behind the lenses of his glasses, emerald eyes glittered with heat. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, betraying a hint of nerves that only revved Draco’s desire up another notch. He plucked the beer (not his favourite, but at least it was small batch) from the other man’s hand and made a point of pressing his mouth to the same spot, sipping the brew and giving a hum of approval at the rich, hoppy flavor.

“Hello.”

White teeth, the front left slightly chipped, scraped over his wet lower lip. His stare was intense, as if he was trying to see inside Draco… or already could.

“Hi. I’m Harry. And you are?”

Draco knew his own grin had been very, very wicked when he replied. “Going to enjoy this immensely.”

He still didn’t know what possessed him to kiss the bloke right there, pressed against the bar. Without another word. Not that he was ever shy, but usually he made them work for it. He so enjoyed being pursued.

There had been none of that.

Harry had pulled out of the kiss panting and blurted, “Bloody hell, you’re incredible.”

And instead of responding with his trademark arrogance, Draco felt honesty sliding off his tongue. His throat had been tight with it.

“I’m not, really. It’s all just smoke and mirrors and haute couture. I have no idea what I’m doing most of the time.”

He’d expected a laugh, but Harry touched his cheek with callused fingers. The crooked smile made another appearance.

“I don’t think any of us do, honestly. We just make it up as we go along. Keeps things interesting though, don’t you think?”

Less than five minutes later, they’d stumbled out into the street, mouths sliding, tongues battling, hands wandering.

The connection he’d felt had been fierce. More than just a physical attraction, Draco had felt a craving for the man’s attention. And not in the general way he always enjoyed being admired, but from Harry specifically.

Pansy hadn’t been joking. In the normal course of hooking up, Draco barely bothered with more than pointed flirtation and a heated, “Yours or mine?” He didn’t care much who the men were, beyond hot and willing, because he never planned on seeing them again.

He’d learned a hell of a lot more than just Harry’s name, however. He knew he was an orphan, an Arsenal fan, and that he wanted to teach kids. That his biggest worry was being rubbish at lessons.

In between kisses and nibbles in the back of the cab, Draco had found himself confessing in return that he didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life, except not work for his father. While tumbling up the stairs of the run-down town house in Islington, they’d somehow discovered a mutual love for HGTV, especially House Hunters: Renovations.

“Sorry about the…” Harry had waved at the peeling wallpaper, ducking his chin and blushing. “I inherited the place from my godfather and haven’t done much with it.”

“I don’t care if there are elves sleeping in the kitchen cupboards as long as you’ve got something approximating a bed.” He licked a swath up Harry’s throat.

Draco’s head had been spinning with lust and laughter (Harry possessed a surprisingly snarky wit) and alcohol, but he couldn’t remember a single other time he’d had so much fun. Or had such an assiduous lover. Though Harry had been tentative at first, once he’d gotten Draco out of his clothes, his hands and mouth were everywhere. Teasing. Tasting. Exploring. Experimenting.

Learning Draco.

“You like that?” Harry asked over and over. “Does that feel good, Draco?” Then he’d speed up or slow down or add a twist of his wrist until he wrung another gasp from Draco’s lips. “How about that?”

Sex was too tame a word for what they’d proceeded to do to and with each other for the next several hours.

“You’re thinking about him again.”

Pansy’s triumphant coo yanked Draco back to the present.

“I’m not.”

He blinked, trying to shake off the heady memories. Unsuccessfully. Not that he was entirely surprised. He’d been attempting to do the very same thing for the last four weeks with similar results.

But damned if he would admit as much to Pansy. Despite her incessant nagging, he had managed to keep most of the details of his encounter from his best friend. He wasn’t entirely sure of the reasoning behind his decision… All he knew was that every time he thought about the way Harry had looked—rumpled and sexy, sprawled out in the pink light of sunrise with a faint smile on his lips, snoring gently in his sleep—as he slipped out of the room, his gut twisted.

The last touch of his skin, warm and faintly sweat-damp, still lingered on Draco’s fingertips even now.

He shoved his hands into his coat pockets and glanced around, surprised to find they had reached Earlham Street already.

Pansy squeezed his elbow. “Admit it. This one got to you.”

 _Yes_.

“No.” He gritted the word out through clenched teeth, willing it to be true.

“Maybe we can go back to Heaven next weekend. See if he’s there. You could give him your number this time.”

Draco breathed a sigh of relief as the front door of Flesh & Buns came into view. He knew what Pans was trying to do, even sort of appreciated it… but he wouldn’t indulge her. Not even if the prospect of returning to the club made his blood whirl in his veins.

Pansy knew him better than anyone. Hell, if his father had had his way, they would have been betrothed at birth. The Malfoys and the Parkinsons both descended from the same old money, aristocratic lines.

When he came out, his father and mother had accepted him with remarkable aplomb… and merely switched their focus to looking for a “suitable husband” for him.

He loved them, despite their often rigid beliefs, but he’d spent his childhood attempting to be the perfect son and it had nearly killed him. Now, he refused to even entertain the idea of conforming to their expectations.

“You know I don’t do repeats, Pans. Tastes too much like commitment.”

Harry had tasted like salted caramel. He shook another cigarette free of the pack and lit it. Pansy sighed.

“You could. It wouldn’t be the end of the world, you know.”

Before he could deliver a scathing reply, she pulled open the restaurant’s door, releasing a waft of warm, fragrant air tinged with the sound of voices. It was no doubt packed, their brunch menu having recently been written up in the Times.

Draco lifted his cigarette and waved her in. “Go on. I’ll be in in a minute.”

She studied his face for a moment before shrugging and flipping her sleek, black bob over her shoulder.

“Fine. Just look for a big table. Granger and Lovegood invited a bunch of their Oxford chums along again.”

He groaned and Pansy chuckled, leaving him on the sidewalk with a wriggle of her manicured fingers. Draco took his time smoking, rocking on his heels and watching the other Londoners stroll past.

Try as he might, he couldn’t push the sound of Harry’s laugh, the look in his brilliant green eyes, or the taste of his lips out of his mind. Christ, why couldn’t he even concentrate on something less… rom-com-y? Like the way Harry’s cock had filled his arse or the way he’d pounded Draco into the mattress.

Draco snorted out a plume of smoke and tossed the butt down, crushing it beneath his heel. Then he plucked it up off the sidewalk and tucked it into his pocket to throw away later.

Inside, the aroma of steamed buns and meat was mouth-watering. His empty stomach rumbled. He caught sight of Ron’s ginger mop in the room’s far corner and wound his way in that direction, shrugging out of his coat. The room was warm with bodies and loud with laughter and conversation. Voices overlapped.

“Hey, there you are!” Neville clapped his hands together and grinned broadly, popping to his feet. “I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”

Draco draped his jacket over the back of the empty chair beside Theo and sighed. Why was everyone so determined to set him up all of the sudden? Did they not know him? Draco Malfoy didn’t do relationships.

Neville was a dear, but Draco couldn’t even begin to imagine the kind of bloke he pictured was a good match for him.

He pushed his sunglasses up onto his head and tried not to roll his eyes. “Nev, darling, how many times must I tell you? I’m not—”

And then he glanced up, directly into a pair of wide, emerald green eyes beneath an unruly black fringe. His heart slammed his ribcage. All around them, conversation faded to a muted buzz.

“Harry?”

Harry’s Adam’s apple bobbed. His cheeks, which were pale, flushed deep red as he stared at Draco. Draco wasn’t sure if it was embarrassment or anger until Harry’s sculpted lips pressed into a firm, unhappy line.

Draco’s knees buckled, spilling him into his chair. He attempted to make it look natural, but had no idea if he succeeded. Neville, oblivious to the tension, carried right on.

“This is the bloke I was telling you about, who rows with me. Hey, do you know each other? Only I don’t remember telling you his name.” Neville glanced back and forth between them, his smile as big and bright as ever.

A muscle ticked in Harry’s jaw. Draco’s lungs felt as if they’d been dipped in lead. He struggled to take a deep breath.

Pansy, who sat two seats down on Neville’s left, beside Ginny, leaned over. She narrowed her eyes as she stirred her Bloody Mary and cocked her head. Draco tried to marshall his expression, but his face felt numb. He had no clue what it was doing.

Obviously, something telling, as Pansy’s gaze flicked from him to Harry. A line appeared between her arched brows.

His silence had dragged on too long, he knew that, but he couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Across from him, Harry’s thick, talented fingers twisted his napkin. He shook his head.

“No,” he said, his voice low and hoarse. Not all that different from how it had sounded when he’d come inside Draco. Except for the thread of hurt. “No, we don’t know each other.”

The words pierced Draco’s chest like a sword. His head pounded, and he tasted bile in the back of his throat.

It wasn’t the first time he’d run into a one-night-stand after he’d snuck out. His usual MO was a breezy smile and a cheek kiss, followed by another quick exit. He never promised anyone anything more than a night. He had never wanted more than that. This was, however, the first time he had ever felt like _this_ … ever wondered if maybe he’d made the wrong choice, leaving without a word.

The way his gut was tying itself into knots as he stared at Harry’s closed expression seemed like an answer.

Draco tilted his head, hoping the gesture conveyed at least a little of his remorse for skipping out while Harry was asleep. He tried a smile, though it wobbled a bit at the edges.

“I guess we don’t,” he agreed, softly. “But I’d like the chance to change that.”

He could hear Pansy whispering to Neville, her voice urgent, but he didn’t look away from Harry. After what felt like a year or two, Harry’s stormy glower faded.

“Yeah. Okay.” He tapped his blunt fingertips against the table and then extended his hand. “Hi. I’m Harry. And you are?”

Draco blinked. A bubble of hilarity swelled in his chest. The situation was so beyond bizarre. A month ago, Harry had had his tongue in Draco’s arse. He’d made Draco come so hard he’d nearly passed out. And now he was introducing himself over the brunch table as if he hadn’t kissed Draco until they’d both unraveled.

Behind his glasses, Harry’s brows rose. He tilted his head. Offering a do over, if Draco was willing to take it.

He slid his hand into Harry’s, shivering a little at the heat from his rough palm.

“Draco,” he replied. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah. You too.”

Harry squeezed his hand. His thumb brushed over Draco’s knuckles. Draco swallowed a moan.

“About damn time,” Hermione huffed, shoving a strawberry bellini into Draco’s free hand. She lifted her chin at Ron. “Didn’t I tell you they both disappeared that night at Heaven? And then Harry went all brooding the next day. I knew it was down to Draco, but _you_ said I was crazy!”

Draco couldn’t even be mad about her know-it-all tone, because Harry was blushing and his lips tipped up in that crooked grin. When his fingers twined through Draco’s, it set his heart dancing in his chest.

Beside Harry, Neville frowned. “So…”

Draco chuckled and raised his flute.

“To second chances.”


End file.
